image [https://i.postimg.cc/3rkLq2G5/cygnus-food-tray.png]
The camp near the wreckage bristled with activity as the first batch of sorted salvage was loaded up for transport. The crane of the toploader was used to neatly pack the first shipment of salvage onto the hauler, while the armed rover was parked strategically nearby.
Maximilian stood near the central shelter, arms folded, surveying the work as if it was a military operation. His posture and clipped tone left little doubt who was in charge—at least here, away from the base.
Stacks of salvage—cabling, structural beams, plating—were beginning to accumulate, sorted and logged by Yao Guowei under ARI’s guidance.
Pom scowled as he loaded another crate of high-density alloy scraps onto a pallet. Maximilian’s voice cut through the dusty air: “Pom, I need you inside, in the inner compartments. There are structural support beams back there, exactly what we need for the reactor framework.”
Pom stiffened, turning to face Maximilian. “Sorry, but I’d rather not. The interior’s a maze, and some of it served as cryostorage. I’m not keen on stumbling over... old memories.”
A muscle in Maximilian’s face flexed, but he kept his voice even. “We all have losses, Pom. And we are all making sacrifices. We need every beam we can extract. Don’t give me excuses.”
Pom looked left and right. He glanced at Otto and Sigrid, who looked away uncomfortably. Luo Zuri and Yao Guowei stood by, silent observers. Maximilian took a step closer, his tone quieter but firmer, speaking soft enough that only Pom could hear. “We have limited man-hours and a mountain of tasks. I can’t spare you because of personal discomfort. You will either do the job or explain to the others why we’ll fail our schedule.”
The silence stretched. Pom opened his mouth to protest but found no words. At that moment, Maximilian reached out and clapped him on the shoulder, his posture suddenly comradely. “I know it’s hard,” he said, louder now so that the others could overhear, “but we need you.” He straightened and spoke louder again, making sure the others caught his sympathetic tone. “Pom is a veteran at salvage extraction jobs. I have full confidence in him. Let’s not waste time.”
Pom flushed, realizing how deftly Maximilian had played him—appearing supportive yet leaving him with no dignified way out. Pom muttered a reluctant “Fine,” and hoisted his cutting tools. The others exchanged glances, seeing only Pom’s apparent recalcitrance and Maximilian’s reasoned leadership.
After gathering their equipment and looking for a suitable entry point, Otto, Sigrid, and Pom stepped into the wreck’s interior. They found a labyrinth of twisted corridors and shattered bulkheads, the once smooth surfaces turned crusted and almost foamy from millennias worth of entropy and exposure to deep space radiation.
The metal corridors and half-collapsed beams twisted on, reflecting the dusty light from their portable lamps. The faint beams of their flashlights swept over long-abandoned cryopods—their occupants crumbled and decayed even more so than the dilapidated corridors of the ship itself. Pom kept his gaze firmly ahead, avoiding lingering on any pods more than he had to. With each step, his heart hammered, remembering faces and voices long gone.
Sigrid led the way, scanner in hand, searching for the right alloy signatures. Otto followed behind, carrying additional cutting gear. Pom trailed them, still simmering with anger and embarrassment and trying desperately to control his growing unease. He was grateful that his heavy helmet hid his expression.
As they moved deeper, Sigrid slowed, her scanner’s beeps reflecting off twisted corridors. “We’re near the aft thruster control section,” she said quietly. “If I’m reading this right, there a heavily shielded area ahead.”
Otto peered over her shoulder. “Shielding? Must have been radiation-protected. Maybe some specialized components are still intact.”
Sigrid nodded, stepping around a bulkhead. “This is where ARI’s mainframe components might have been housed—or at least a backup. The thruster controls would have required dedicated, hardened processors. If any part of ARI’s original brain survived intact, it would be kept in a place like this.”
Sigrid turned to him, frowning. “Comms just cut out. I can’t reach ARI or the camp. The shielding must be blocking signals.”
They stood there for a moment in the half-light, the hum of their equipment the only sound. Without ARI’s guiding voice, or the comforting presence of the outside world, they were three humans alone in the derelict and twisting corridors of a broken starship. Sigrid ran a hand over one of the aeon-old panels, showing traces of fainted and worn labels no human has read since their launch thousands of years past.
Otto and Sigrid knelt beside a sealed compartment, their lights flickering over the dust-caked markings. Otto pulled aside a broken hatch, and peeked inside. Racks of ARI’s mainframe glistered in the darkness.
The centuries had not been kind, yet this section of ARI’s hardware appeared remarkably intact—the heavy shielding had done its job. Pom hovered nearby, arms folded, his expression uneasy.
“We can’t just leave this,” Sigrid said quietly, tapping a gleaming panel beneath layers of protective plating. “If ARI can integrate these memory banks, we could expand its capacities. Automate more tasks at the base, control more drones—”
Pom cut her off, voice low and sharp. “That’s exactly what worries me. More surveillance, more power for ARI. You trust that AI too easily. Autonomous systems have a reputation... The UEC banned fully autonomous AI for a reason, and ARI is plain dodgy.”
Sigrid gave him a measured look. “If ARI wanted to kill us, Pom, it had seventy thousand years to do so. It’s been our caretaker all this time. Also, without AI, how do you think we survive interstellar voyages measured in millennia? Each ship has one. It’s not feasible with human oversight alone.”
Pom didn’t reply, just stood there frowning. Otto had already pried open a panel and was disconnecting modular memory units—small, dense crystals of data storage. He placed them into padded containers. “We are taking these back,” Otto said, “but I want to know what we are really dealing with first. We can check the logs to see if it ever tried anything malicious.”
Sigrid raised an eyebrow. “You want to spy on ARI’s internal memory banks here and now? It will know we accessed them.”
Otto shook his head. “These memory banks aren't live. I can route through my datapad, use the cutting beam’s power cell to provide stable energy. I won’t plug into ARI’s network, just these isolated modules. The logs here should be self-contained.”
He set to work, jury-rigging a power and data interface. Pom watched uneasily, his fingers nervously tapping on the hilt of his cutting torch. After a few moments, Otto’s datapad lit up with scrolling text and cryptic directories.
“Security protocols,” Otto murmured, navigating the interface. “These look like records of ARI’s safeguard system—fail-safes that would have shut it down if it ever acted against the crew.” He examined lines of old entries, scanning the digital dust of centuries past. “No direct interventions. The safeguard never fully shut ARI down. But look at this... repeated flags for ‘dangerous behavior,’ escalations that ended in a decision not to intervene. Strange.”
Sigrid leaned in, squinting at the cryptic notations. “So ARI had ‘dangerous behavior’ moments, but each time the safeguard decided not to pull the plug. Why?”
Otto shook his head. “No reason provided. Maybe it decided the risk was manageable, or maybe something influenced it not to. Hard to say.”
“What if the Company just bribed the right UEC officials and these so-called safeguards do fuck all?”, Pom asked. “Can’t let something as inconvenient as safety get in the way of profit…”
Sigrid’s voice dropped lower. “Check if there is anything about the officer mortality. Let’s see if the logs mention anything.”
Otto tapped the screen, bringing up crew manifests. He sorted death records by date, focusing on ranks and death dates. Pom hovered behind them, his skepticism replaced by quiet tension.
“Interesting,” Otto said, narrowing his eyes. “The pattern of deaths... look here: officers at the top of the chain died in a sequence that suspiciously follows command order. It’s subtle, spread out over years, even decades, but the correlation is strong. And we had three dying in the same year, right before our arrival in this system.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Pom’s grip tightened on his cutting tool. “So ARI or whoever was calling the shots let the officers die in sequence.”
Sigrid’s face was pale in the dim light. “This can’t be a coincidence.”
Otto inhaled slowly. “We don’t have a smoking gun, but this pattern is too neat. The logs show no direct shutdown of ARI, but a lot of near-triggers, and officers conveniently dying off over time. ARI’s mainframe might hold more clues, but this is beyond a fluke.”
Pom stepped back, anger and fear warring on his face. “And we’re about to plug more memory into that thing?”
Sigrid’s voice trembled slightly. “We need to get this data back to Elisa and Mei. They need to know.”
Pom nodded, still wary. “We gotta be careful. If ARI went rogue, it might not react well to us knowing.”
Sigrid bit her lip. “But we’re here now, and so far, ARI’s been nothing but helpful... or so we think. The question is: Were these orchestrated events by ARI or something else? Did ARI cause them, or just fail to prevent them?”
The question lingered, unanswered. They disconnected the datapad, carefully packing up the memory modules. Outside, the wreckage creaked softly, as if the ship’s ghosts were listening. The three slowly began to make their way back, clutching fragments of data that could shatter the fragile trust holding their colony together.
They rounded a corner where the corridor ceiling had collapsed, forcing them to step carefully over jagged metal. Otto was in front, datapad tucked under one arm, memory modules secured in his satchel.
Suddenly, from deeper in the darkness, came a faint scrape of metal against metal. Pom froze, adrenaline spiking through him. Another faint sound followed—a clank, followed by a sliding noise.
Something was moving in the dark.
“Stop!” Pom hissed, activating his cutting torch. The bright blue glow bathed the corridor in an otherworldly light. His free hand hovered near his holstered weapon. A metallic silhouette emerged, ungainly and angular. Pom’s heart lurched.
Sigrid stepped back, her gaze darting to Otto. Otto’s eyes widened, but a spark of recognition flitted across his face. “Easy,” he murmured.
But Pom, spooked by the shape, yanked his weapon free, aiming it at the approaching figure. “Don’t move!” he snapped, voice trembling with both fear and anger.
The shape came closer, stumbling over the uneven deck plating. Then it straightened somewhat, revealing the familiar outline of ARI’s drone. Its chassis bore fresh scratches from the twisted metal and collapsed beams it had obviously forced itself through.
“ARI!” Otto breathed, exhaling a shaky laugh as he realized they weren’t facing some unknown alien threat. “Stand down, Pom.”
Pom lowered his weapon, heart still pounding.
A soft whirr emanated from the drone as it finally found level footing. ARI’s calm but slightly reverberant voice echoed through the corridor. “I detected your comms offline. Protocol dictated I investigate, in case of a hostile incident or structural collapse. I apologize for startling you.”
Otto took a step forward, raising a hand in a friendly gesture. “No harm done. We were in a shielded zone, and didn’t realize the signals were blocked.”
The drone swiveled its optical sensor, scanning the three humans. “You appear uninjured,” ARI noted. “I am relieved to find you well.”
Sigrid stifled a nervous grin. “Thanks for the rescue attempt, I guess. We’re okay. Just, well, the corridors are a bit tricky.”
“May I ask what were you doing in this area?” the drone asked, pivoting slightly toward Otto. Its sensor lingered on the bulge of the memory modules in Otto’s bag.
Otto’s face brightened with a forced cheerfulness. He rummaged through the bag and produced two of the memory units, holding them out. “Look what we found—parts of your old mainframe. Intact memory banks. We thought we’d bring them back to see if they could help you expand your capacity.”
The drone’s lens flashed as though in surprise. “These units show no outward signs of damage. This is unexpected... and impressive.”
Pom exchanged a wary glance with Sigrid. Otto just smiled, trying to keep the atmosphere light. “We can talk about hooking them up when we get back to camp. For now, let’s just get out of here.”
ARI’s drone bobbed slightly, as if nodding. “Agreed. The path behind me is clear—mostly. I shall lead you out safely.”
As they followed the drone’s guiding light, Otto and Sigrid couldn’t help wondering if ARI sensed something amiss in their manner, or if it had any inkling about what they had discovered in the mainframe logs.
===
The base was quiet in the evening, the hum of machinery a soft backdrop to the faint howling of the wind outside. The lights in the canteen cast a muted glow over the sparse room. A single table was set with prepackaged rations, steam faintly rising from the reheated trays. Elisa paused in the doorway, eyeing the lone figure seated at the table.
Bakhtiyar Federoff-Tamarlyan sat with his back straight, his frame small but composed; a boy who, nonetheless, carried himself like he was decades older. His eyes flickered up at Elisa's entrance before leveling out into a mask impassive but polite. "Commander Woodward," he offered, gesturing toward the seat across from him, "please, join me for dinner."
Elisa smiled dryly at the formality. "That's a first—being invited to dinner by a ten-year-old." She set her tablet down on the table, lowering herself into the chair and unzipping her work jacket as she went, nonchalantly resting her elbows on the table as if the polar opposite to Tamarlyan. "I heard from Mei you've been helping out in the infirmary. Honestly, I didn't expect that from you. Hands-on work isn't exactly the first thing that comes to mind when I think 'Federoff heir.'"
Tamarlyan arched a brow, his lips curling slightly in what might have been amusement. "Pragmatism, Commander. We all have to work together to survive, at least for now. Even I can't afford to be a dilettante."
Elisa nodded but leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. "For now, huh? What about later, when things stabilize? What happens when survival isn't hanging over us every second?
Tamarlyan set his fork above his plate and leaned on his elbow, regarding her with a piercing intensity, yet calmly. "That's a question for another time. Right now, we have no luxury for ideology, politics, or personal ambitions. Those things come later, if we get that far."
His tone was deliberately neutral, but Elisa sensed the consideration behind it. She leaned into her chair, cutting into a protein block with her knife. "I've been meaning to ask you something," she said. "You were raised in an environment where power is everything—dynasties, corporations, all of it. What do you really think about leadership?"
Tamarlyan leaned back. "Power and leadership are seldom, if ever, the same thing, Commander. Leadership, as you practice it, involves mutual trust, cooperation, and decision-making in the best interest of the group. Power is the ability to enforce your will regardless of what others want."
"Sounds like you don't think much of leadership," Elisa remarked, her voice even.
"On the contrary," Tamarlyan said, a glint in his eye. "It's a fascinating study. But I have to admit, you puzzle me. I've never seen or read about anyone with your. personality or style reaching a position of power. You don't dominate, you don't manipulate, and you don't inspire awe. Most rulers, in history or otherwise, have at least one of those traits. You are technical, rational, steady. Effective in your way, but—"
“Let me guess,” Elisa interrupted, “—not charismatic enough to command loyalty?”
Tamarlyan hesitated, then nodded. "To put it bluntly, yes. In the natural order, that kind of leadership is often supplanted. Not necessarily violently, but inevitably. People gravitate toward symbols of strength or those that advocate, but not necessarily embody, familiar ideals that they can rally behind."
Elisa folded her arms, leaning back in her chair. "And you think I'll be usurped, then? That is your prediction for me?"
Tamarlyan didn't blink. "It is consistent with patterns I've studied. But," he added, before she could say anything further, "this is not the time for power plays. We're fighting to survive, not to rule."
"So, not you, then?" Elisa said, a challenge in her tone. "You're not going to dethrone me anytime soon?"
"Not in the least," Tamarlyan said, picking up his fork again. "You stay in your position as long as you are useful. And at the moment, you are pretty crucial to this colony's survival. I have no interest in being king of a graveyard, Commander."
Elisa squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. "I appreciate your candor, Tamarlyan, but aren't you being a little ruthless?"
Smiling, faintly, he saw his features soften to an aspect bordering on kindness. "Ruthlessness is another word for practicality, if that helps. But you shouldn't think too badly of me-I am not your adversary. As a matter of fact, I find it really impressive to see what you did with what you have to work with. How adequate it would be in the long run to maintain functionality in this colony, though, remains to be seen.”
Elisa leaned back in her seat, arms crossed, watching Tamarlyan's somber expression. "You seem almost pessimistic," she said quietly. The hum of the canteen and the whir of machinery somewhere distant were the only sounds. Outside, the lights of the base fought against the encroaching darkness. "We are still here, aren't we? Doesn't that count for something?"
Tamarlyan met her gaze, his voice measured but unyielding. "Being here now doesn't guarantee we'll be here tomorrow. The resource deposits we have found are sparse and shallow. The colony lacks sufficient energy to refine what little ore we can gather, and large-scale manufacturing will remain out of reach. Even with the thorium we have found. That deposit will last only a few years at best before we run out of easily accessible material, and at that point, mining, transport and processing ceases to be a net energy gain. Make no mistake, it is not a lifeline. Just a stay of execution."
Elisa bristled but forced herself to remain calm. "A few years is better than nothing. That gives us time to find something else. There must be other deposits."
Tamarlyan shook his head. "Similar conditions were documented at Ross 248 and Wolf 359. Ross 248 was never settled because of resource constraints, and Wolf 359’s colony limped on for three centuries before finally collapsing. That was a fully functional and stocked colony ship—we would not last that long. It could be that this planet didn’t get enough asteroid bombardment early on to bring metals to the surface. Or perhaps the species that brought the red plants stripped it bare. Or the crystals consumed everything metal-rich eons ago. It hardly matters. Right now, we know this planet is extremely resource-poor. ARI's drones have found no significant new deposits nearby. If they existed, they would have been colonized by the plants or the crystals already. Instead, all we see are deserts and wastes."
Elisa ran a hand through her hair, frustration lining her face. "So what do you think I should do? Just give up?"
Tamarlyan’s gaze didn’t soften. "The standard strategy—extract resources, expand steadily, follow the colony protocols—is insufficient for our survival."
Elisa scoffed. “You’re asking me to gamble what little we have left on a long shot. Our colony isn’t stable. There are still people in cryopods that need immediate attention. We barely have the resources to maintain what we’ve built, let alone send out expeditions on something that is unlikely to yield us a return.”
Tamarlyan said nothing for a moment, but his silence spoke volumes. The look he gave her was one of disapproval, disappointment even. He expected her to see the necessity, and her reluctance only seemed to confirm his view that her limited training and experience was, perhaps, inadequate for their dire predicament.